I shrug.
“I mean it,” she says. “You’re the most intriguing, most noble man I know.”
Bitterness snakes through my veins. She’d take that back if she knew the truth.
“I’m far from perfect, trust me.” I look around the room at the very essence of my soul laid bare. “What you see here is me at my truest self. I pour my heart and soul into my books. Every word is carefully chosen. If you want to understand the man behind the enigma, you’ll uncover the truth between the pages.”
“I think I have a pretty good understanding already.” Mischief glints in her eyes. “Though I’m going to go home and start rereading your books with a fine-tooth comb. I’m determined to uncover all the hidden meanings.”
“Go for it. Let me know what you discover.”
“Why are you not doing this full-time?” She folds her arms around her waist and levels me with a serious look. “You hate your job, and you’re too damn talented a writer to not be writing books for a career. What is your father holding over you? Because that’s what’s holding you back, am I right?”
I bob my head. “Yes, it’s all connected to him. He doesn’t know about any of this, and he never will. It’s one of the reasons I write under a pseudonym.”
“How did you pick your author name? Does it have some special significance?”
“Stanley is my mother’s maiden name. Her family originally came from England before her great-great-grandfather moved to France to start a textiles business. I wanted a connection to my mother because she fostered my love of reading from an early age. As you already know, Samuel Beckett was one of her favorite writers, but it was a bit too close to home to choose that name. Lord Byron was her favorite poet, so I picked his name, andvoilà, Byron Stanley was born.”
“I love that. It’s perfect.”
“I think so. I hope she’s looking down on me and she’s proud. She wanted to be a writer, but she ended up becoming a model. Then she met dad, got married young, and…”
Pain rattles through my bones, and I can’t say the words out loud.
I never can.
Those gruesome images resurrect in my mind, like they do any time I think about that terrible day.
Gulping back the pain, I subtly take deep breaths, in and out, and forcefully shove the memories from my mind, like I do at night when the horrors invade my dreams, turning them into nightmares.
“She never had a chance to fulfill her dream,” I say, trying to resituate myself in the moment.
Sympathy splays across Stevie’s face.
I know she realizes there is a story behind my mother’s death, and I’m grateful she never asks. One day, I hope to pluck up the courage to tell her.
“Is that why you decided to become a writer?”
“It was a part of it, yes. It’s also an escape from those elements of my life I dislike or struggle to connect with. I don’t people well. Escaping into a fictional world has saved my sanity more times than I can count. But mostly it’s because I wanted to be a detective when I grew up. Father would never permit it, so this was the next best thing.”
“Becoming a fictional detective through the pages of your books.”
“Yes.” I knew Stevie would get it.
“I love your books even more knowing the background now.” She looks at me with a myriad of emotions splaying across her face. “This has blown my mind, Beck. I am so in awe of you.”
“Thank you. Your reaction has been everything. It’s scary admitting it to people, and knowing you support me means the world.”
“I have rarely seen you as passionate as you are talking about writing and books. It’s clear it’s what you’re meant to be doing with your life. Can’t you find a way to get rid of whatever your father is holding over you now? I know you said previously you had to bide your time, but is there nothing you can do to get out sooner?”
I spin around in my chair, toying with my lips as I reply. “My sisters and I have a considerable trust fund due to us from the Colbert estate. It was set up by our grandfather. Unfortunately, my asshole of a father is the trustee. I got half when I turned twenty-five, and I am due to receive the other half after I have worked for Colbert Aerospace for fifteen years. Dad has the power to alter the terms, and he made me a deal when he approached me about Brielle. He said he’d give it to me if I married her and stayed married to her for at least two years. I honestly couldn’t give a fuck about the money. We all got a small inheritance from mom at twenty-one. Between both trust funds and my book income, I have more than enough to be comfortable for the rest of my life. But the way the trust fund works is different for my sisters.”
“How?”
“They only get a quarter when they turn twenty-five, and they don’t get the rest until they get married.” I run a hand over my cropped dark hair. “He has held this over me since I turned twenty-five. My plan had been to resign from the business then, get the fuck out of Seattle, and go somewhere quieter to become a full-time writer. But dad put the screws on me. If I don’t stay in the business, he’s going to cut my sisters off completely, and the only way they’ll get access to their trust funds is if they marry someone of his choosing.”
“What the actual fuck?” Her eyes pop wide as her hands fall to the edge of the desk. “Surely, that’s not legal?”
